Trapped In The Rabbit Hole

Chapter 5: Arriving

As soon as we arrived at Miles' house, the driveway is flooded with police cars: it is a torquoise blue house that has brown grass, and clean windows.

The door is painted dark blue, which matches the mailbox standing a few inches in front of us.

With the traffic growing on the lawn, I had no choice but to park behind one of the police vehicles and turn off the ignition.

"Whoa, big spectacle." Seth whistled.

Meanwhile, I remove the car keys from the slot and tucked them into my pocket.

"Let's go," I insisted.

"Fine," Seth snorts, joining me.

We squeeze through the tight spaces quickly, due to the fact that I am claustrophobic.

When Seth and I finally made it to the front door, we saw Jason inside the house, touching the objects with his white gloves.

He has wavy blond hair, blue eyes, and an incredible jawline. His outfit consists of a navy blue police uniform, glasses, and black shoes.

I open the door and walked inside, while Seth didn't budge.

"I'll stay here," he insists.

Crime scenes aren't really his thing; he rather sets his eyes on a laptop than a puddle of blood.

"Okay," I said with a shrug. "Just stay in the car."

I lend him the car keys and arrive into the house.

Just then, the smell of ocean waves flew into my nose. Light blue paint flourished on the walls as sun rays appear on the dark cherrywood floors.

The bottom of my sneakers scrape against the brown carpet. Over to my right is a dark brown dining table with four, luxurious gray chairs.

The glass chandelier swung stiffly on the ceiling.

To my left, is a huge organ piano; whereas an abundant living room is right in front of me.

Other than the huge flat screen television, two white couches, and a fireplace up against the corner of the wall.

Miles' home seems nice, maybe his foster parents are middle-class citizens.

Jason sees me marveling the room, and ask what I was doing here.

"I'm here to help the police," I answer calmly.

"I want to know who killed Miles."

He gives me a strange look.

"Why?" he ask. "Are you a friend of his?"

"No," I said plainly. "But I need your white rubber gloves."

"What for?"

Instead of answering his question, I headed over to the kitchen.

I notice the gray stove has been clean, no food or crumb sprinkling on top of it.

Although, I can smell bleach in the sink and the refrigerator door.

"Luke," Jason said, catching up to me. "You need to get out of here-"

"Not until I find out why there's bleach in the sink and fridge." I interrupted.

"What is the couple hiding?"

Sighing, the officer advises me to stay out of the case.

"I know you want to help," he began. "But-"

"Hey Luke," someone greeted. "How's everything?"

I glance to see a cop friend, Frank Howers, holding out a hand for me to shake.